


Plastic Prison

by Shadowsdarklight



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Isolation, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 04:16:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 21,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14204853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowsdarklight/pseuds/Shadowsdarklight
Summary: See what happens when 2D is taken off the meds for his concussions, and has to endure the pain and work through the horrid emotions Murdoc's been forced to suppress for so many years.All in all, in the end Stuart gets revenge...(Similar to my 'One Bullet' 2Doc fanfic, because they both end up on Plastic Beach)(COMPLETED)





	1. Chapter 1

(2D's POV)

My hangover made my head scream in pain. I barely made it to the kitchen, stumbling there in an attempt to find where I had last set my painkillers. Murdoc silently walked passed me, bumping into me slightly. I could tell he must have hurt more than I did. I don't remember what happened at the bar last night after the concert, but I'm sure he drank more than me. I heard glass bang together as he pulled out another bottle of beer, causing me to groan in pain at the noise as I swallowed three or four pills. I opened one of the cupboards above me, searching for a small glass for water. I felt a sharp snap against my ass as Murdoc walked passed, mumbling "move," in an angry and annoyed tone. He held the belt he hit me with loosely in his hand, dropping it on the floor before he walked into the bathroom. The loud thud of the metal hitting the ground bringing another sharp pain to my head. I was just glad he haven't hit my head with it like he normally would.

I quietly tapped against the door. "Ey, could I at least brush my teef'?"

"What teeth ya talkin bout faceache?" Murdoc angrily joked from the other side. The door opened for a split second before a toothbrush was thrown at my face. It wasn't even mine, but I really didn't care. My mouth tastes like shit and I needed something to help it. I ended up brushing what teeth I had left in the kitchen sink, using some old mint vodka as mouthwash. It worked well enough.

This shitty apartment we were stuck in sucked. The rooms are too small, the bathrooms are gross and the lights only work in half the rooms. I'm not even sure what the inside of Murdoc's room looks like anymore, he won't replace his broken lights. He claimed he just likes the dark, which is understandable, but I'm sure it's just because he's either too lazy or waiting for someone else to do it.

Out of curiosity, I took out my phone and used the flashlight to look inside while he used the toilet. He was so loud, it sounded like pure acid, burning the bowl as it hit it. I shined the light into his room. It looking almost the same as the first (and last) time I saw it, just more trashed.

It smelt like cigarettes, sweat, and liquor, along with a few car-air fresheners. It reminded me of his winnebago. Cigarettes where burned into the cheap plastic carpeting. Bottles of rum and whiskey littered the floor and the underneath of his bed, barely supported by his frame. Half assed piles of clothes where scattered over each corner of the room, and bottles of pain killers, for hang overs, where spilled by his closet door, which was also over flowing with dirty clothes. The walls not covered in posters where spray painted, one wall was painted like a dart board. The rings of paint had knives thrown at it, all missing the center.

The only thing he saved to give a damn about in his room was his 'El Diablo' bass that laid on his bed.

"The fuck 're ya doin?" Murdoc asked from behind me, seeming more annoyed than angry. I let out a yelp of surprise, jumping as I heard his voice. I was expecting him to hit me again as I turned around to look at him. I wanted to run away, and hopefully get out of a beating, but he blocked my path as we both stood in the doorway.

"No'fing Mudz, just lookin 'round... Why 're ya shirtless?" I asked, only now realizing how oddly good his body was...

"Air conditioner's broken. Get outta my room 'n fix it," he said, more harsh, roughly pushing me out of the way so I slammed into the nearest wall. Another searing pain came to my head, the painkillers not working like that used to. I walked away as soon as the door slammed shut. Once again locking himself in his own pitch black void.

Grabbing my toothbrush out of the kitchen, I brought it back to the bathroom. This room was trashed too. The sink was covered in vomit and who knows what, Murdoc's red nail polish was spilt on the counter, and I'm not even gonna look at the toilet. I Ali saw the beer Murdoc took this morning still on the counter, unopened and forgotten. I downed it in minutes as I headed to the living room. It was odd he hadn't drank it already...

Lucky Noodle got her own bathroom, while I was forced to share one with a monster like Murdoc. I'm not even gonna think about where Russell goes to take a piss, that guy's huge. Can't even fit his foot through the doorway. Oh well.

I could hear Murdoc playing his bass through the wall. The familiar calming toon of Feel Good Inc. I mumbled the words silently as I walked by his room once again. Stumbling into my room I figured I might as well change. I half asses cleaned my room by shoving everything into the closet as I looked for a clean (enough) shirt. I ended up wearing my old T-virus shirt from the Clint Eastwood video. That was a fun video. I through on some random skinny jeans and wound up throwing myself down on the living room couch, channel searching before eventually just watching some colorful kids show. My half sober mind didn't know or care what I watched, I just needed some random noise to fill the strangely quite house. The clock only read six in the morning. I wasn't sure how I was so awake.

Murdoc's bass was still playing, but now it was a tune I didn't recognize. After seemingly screwing up a few times, he went back to playing one of his own songs. He played the song Five Four out of the speakers as he played along to the bass line. I sang along to the music, half mumbling along to my own voice.

I don't know how Noodle could still sleep through this. Seems like I don't know a lot of things now a days.

(Murdoc's POV)

His voice is like an untouchable gold that slowly slips through my fingers. I could hear his voice thrown the wall, no matter how load I turned up the volume of my music. Even if it wasn't him singing, I could still hear his mumbled voice as he sang along. Why did I have to fall for that lovable idiot. Why for someone I can never have.

I brushed off the ashes from my cigarette off El Diablo as I stopped playing. I left the music on in an attempt to block out the world surrounding me. Even in this darkened I used to mask my depression I could still see my empty bottles of rum. I picked one up off the floor and held it to my lips in an attempt to get out a few more drops. I was a drunken bastard and I knew it.

I actually was sorry for beating up Stew most of the time. I knew he didn't deserve it, he never does anything wrong. I always figured hurting someone else would make myself feel better, but it never really did. It actually made me seem worse. Especially if it was Stewart. I felt terrible for even thinking about him. I didn't want him to be the last thing on my mind as I pulled the trigger, but he was the only good thing I had left in my life. Noodle hated me. So did Russell. I guess Stuart was the only one who still liked me enough, but now, I just can't take it. I turned up the volume of the music so no one would hear the shot. I tried to think of my favorite moments in life and they all seemed to involve him somehow.

I guess I'll let him be my last memory. He was the last thing I cared about, and the last thing I thought about as I brought the gun to my temple...

\--------------------------

Yeah, yeah, I know, this is literally just a copy paste I cleaned up a bit from the other book, hold on, it changes a lot more in the second chapter...


	2. Chapter 2

(2D's POV)

I started to get worried when Murdoc started messing up more and more chords. And even more worried when he stopped in the middle of a song, he always plays till the end, no matter what he's listening to. I knocked in the door, asking him if he was alright. The music just got louder, so I knocked on the door again. Then I heard a familiar sound, something I hoped would never come from the other side of this door. The sound of a gun being cocked.

I tried to push the door open, only to realize it was locked. "Murdoc, open 'dis fuckin door!" No answer. I through my body into it, trying to knock it down, or ion it with force. When the old wooden frame finally gave out, and the door fell in, I wash shocked at what I saw.

Murdoc, holding a gun to his head, with tears streaming down his face, his mismatched eyes refusing to look at me. He noticed me in the doorway right away, and his arm went limp as he dropped the gun, letting it fall to the ground and bounce under his bed.

"Shit, Murdoc, what 're ya doin!?" I panic Ed. I didn't know what to do in a situation like this?

"Get out."

"No! Murd-"

"I said, get the FUCK OUT!" he screamed, the music still blaring in the background.

"I ain't leaving ya like this," I said a little calmer. I went over to turn down the music. He let me, without any arguing. I took my hands and held his face with both of them, forcing him to look at me when he refused to. "Look at me Mudz... Oh my god, Murdoc why-"

"I don't need your pity," he forced out through clenched teeth. His voice cracked like a hiccup, trying to stop himself from crying. I sat on the bed next to him, trying to comfort him as best I could. How do I comfort a man who hates to be touched.

"Murdoc why... W-why would ya do this?"

He looked at me with the most serious face, "Because the world ain't fair Stu."

"Fair? Fair to wha'?" He didn't answer. Instead, he picked up the gun and threw it, creating another dent in his wall.

I looked at him in shock, only to realise the tears had returned to his face. he looked like he was in pain and thought, and I guess... I couldn't help it. I leaned in to try and hug him, comfort him. And he did exactly what I thought he would.

He punched me. Right in my mouth.

I started back, not wanting to get hurt again. I fell on my ass and scrambled away, fearing he'd get up and chase after me. I cared about him, I really did, and I wanted to help as best as I could... But I also knew when I needed to leave. I trusted he wouldn't try it again, at least... Not soon. But with Murdoc, it'd never really predictable...

(Murdoc's POV)

I felt him lean in. Why did he have to be such a huggy little git. I really didn't want him touching me, but I wasn't expecting me to punch him, it just felt like instinct to hit him at this point. I wasn't used to people getting this close to me, or even wanting to. I really wasn't going to hit him, I honestly didn't want to. But I felt as though a punch now was better than me having a panic attack and trying to kill him later.

It's instinct, only instinct. I keep telling myself, it'll be fine... But I know it won't be.

I know it won't be fine, because it never is. It's never worked out for me, except for this band, and I'm not even sure that counts anymore. I'm not a success, they all come for 2D. And why wouldn't they! He's gorgeous, and plays and sings magnificently. And I'm... I'm an old song writer who refuses to give up, that's it.

And that's just it, I refuse to give up. And I'll die writing music if I have to, and I'm dragging the rest of them with me...


	3. Chapter 3

(2D's POV)

It's cold down here... Under the island. I can't remember how long its been since the band actually broke up... Since I've seen the others. I missed them.

I would say I'm glad Murdoc took me away from my boring, dismal life after the band left. I'd be happy if it was just for the music. Just for the money or fame. I would say I'm glad... But I'm not.

We've been on this island for who remembers how long, and Murdoc isn't doing so well. And neither am I...

It's become a daily thing at this point. Only starting out as a consensual experiment. But as the days went by, I was faced with the same dilemma I was in now.

Forced face down into a matress against my will. A pain in my backside and a hand against my neck.

"M-Murdo-... It hurts-"

" I said, stop whining," he grunted out. Good fuck did this hurt when he was sober. In all honestly, it wasn't so bad when he was drunk. A little softer, and a little sweeter. Still painful as hell though. But like this, he was more away, more aware, more pissed-

"B-bloody f-f-fuckin'-"

"Stop fuckin' movin' like that!" He screamed at me, every time I went to grind my erection against the mattress. He had one of his hands in a vice grip around one of my hips, holding my ass higher in the air. It would leave another bruise, I knew it. I already had so many because of him.

"That's it!" Murdoc said, getting frustrated with me. He pulled out and slammed my entire body to the bed. Both movements sending a sharp pain up my spine. "Clean yourself up, you smell discussing..." He mumbled on his way out, slamming the door shut. And that's when the migraine finally hit me.

It was torture down here. If I ever died and went to hell, I don't think I'd even realize it. Nothing would have to change.

I'm out if pills. Those sweet painkillers were the only thing keeping me sane down here, and now they're gone. They're gone and it hurts all over. I was shaking just trying to prop myself up on my elbows, and my ass felt like it was bleeding. It wasn't, but it sure felt like it.

I used my arms to try and push myself up, to try to stand, but that ended with an arm slipping off the side of my bed and my head slamming to the ground. I whined in pain, almost forgetting no one would hear it.

I finally made it to the bathroom's shower after what felt like forever, and I didn't even have the strength to turn the water on. Why would I even want to, there was no hot water. It wasn't enjoyable like a shower should be! Everything was cold here. The water, the air, the floor, the bed... His hands... They were all cold.

Maybe I would notice if I died here. Hell seemed warmer...

My head was throbbing from the pain, and I could help but check the empty bottle I had left. Nothing once again. I don't know why I looked, it never changed, but I could always hope the pain would go away...

After what felt like forever, there was a surprisingly gental knock at the door.

He was back.


	4. Chapter 4

"Stu... Stuey, Stu, Stuart..." Murdoc slurred, unlocking the door easily and walking into the bathroom. I curled into a tighter ball as I sat at the bottom of the shower. "Stu Pot, I am..." He paused to hiccup, "I am so very sorry..." Bullshit.

He came and sat by me on the shower floor. The smell of liquor and cheap booze on his breath. I just stayed quiet. My head hurt too much to talk back today. 

"You wanna know why I'm sorry?" he pauses. "Well?"

"... Sure." I said quick and quietly. 

"Oh, oh, oh... shhh... do ya 'ave anotha headache?" He said, attempting a whisper in hi drunken state. "Oh, no no no. That ain't any good, no..." he kept getting closer as he spoke, cornering me into the tiled shower's wall. He took my head in both hands, making me look at him. I wasn't as scared of him this way, honestly. He was almost nice when he drank, less tense, more tolerable. He also tended to... snap less. 

When he was completely sober, he could be perfectly calm, and the smallest thing would through him into a fit of rage. 

"Want me ta make er' betta?" he asked softly. He let go of my head, letting me shake my head, no. "Oh, now come on... you'll like it," he said, starting to touch at my chest. "I know you'll like it...You always like it..." There was a nip at my neck and a hand on my knee. 

I don't know how I didn't hate him, but I didn't. I was so deprived of human contact, I felt desperate for it. I've been talking to myself the past few weeks in an attempt at replacing human interaction. My reflection doesn't talk back much. 

"Stuey?" he asked, waiting for my response. "Don't you want to?" the kisses got slower and more delicate. "Please..."

"Murdoc, no..." I pleaded. He picked me up, bringing me back to the bed. He knew I couldn't walk right. I don't know how many memories his drunk self and sober self share. Sometimes I think none, but sometimes it all. Maybe sober him doesn't remeber, and maybe drunk him knows it all. Maybe... my head hurts, way too much right now...

He set me down genitally, making himself comfortable beside me. It was actually quite rare that he got this way. Extremely touchy and cuddly was... new. It was normally just singing and sex. That was the only reason for me to ever see him, or leave this room.

I liked this.

(Murdoc's POV) 

I was... very drunk.

I honestly don't remember how I wound up in 2D's room last night. And I have no idea how I was able to get this close to him. Arms around him as we both stayed on his bed. 

Sweet Satan, this room was cold! Too tired to care, I huddled closer to Stu, trying to keep myself warm. I felt him shift in front of me, probably waking up, but once he felt me, he stopped. His body froze, trying not to be noticed, and, like the ass I am, I quickly made it noticeable that I knew. 

I grabbed his hips, pulling his waist against mine. I heard him whimper in pain. Right, right, the bruises. He'll be fine. A gasp left him when I snaked my hands around his stomach. He almost seemed to panic when I started to grind against his backside, and oh fuck was it hot. I loved the way he squirmed against me. His body was so weak and sexy, I'd do just about anything to get it moving. Biting normally got him moving...

He quickly hid his neck when he realized I was moving towards it. M hands quickly moved to his thighs as a detraction, making him forget about his neck, making it extremely easy for me to add another hickey to my collection. They were all a beautifully dark purple against his pale white skin. 

I loved the sounds he made. The pleadings to stop, or slow down, they were all so lovely coming from his voice. 

"Murdoc, stop it..." he whimpered out pathetically. My hands moved higher, and my love bruises turned into bites soon after. "Stop," he said again, attempting to push me away, struggling against me. 

I loved It when he did. I loved the feel of his skin, moving against mine. I loved his weak, slim body... Oh, just thinking about him turned me on... I couldn't help myself. I let my hands wander to what's mine, and started toying with his already naked arse. 

But, I was soon surprised... when I foud myself being thrown off he bed. 

"I said, STOP!" 2D screamed, rage and fury filling his blackened eyes as he stood above me. 

I knew this was bound to happen eventually...


	5. Chapter 5

(2D's POV) 

Oh my Buddha, I punched him. I told him to stop and I punched him, why did I have to punch him!? I mean, he deserved it, a lot, but he's also a lot stronger than me, why did I have to start shit by punching him!?

He looked up at me, I stood on top of the bed, ready to defend my self (or really, shield myself from him) as he sat on the floor, stunned. In an instant his face got hard and angry, and I was terrified. He looked at me for what felt like a minute, and then, his expression changed. And then, he just... left the room. He left the room, left me terrified and panicking. 

Why did I do that!? Where is he going, is he getting something? Is he getting a weapon? Am I gonna die? I'm buck ass naked, I don't wanna die naked! 

I probably sat on that bed for hours, managing to only put on a pair of underwear as I stared at the door... for hours. I don't know how many, there was no clock down here, and I had a terrible sense of time. I had a migraine, but it was hard to pay attention to that when you're scared half shit-less. 

It must have been at least a day before I heard footsteps again. I couldn't sleep, and I felt even more threatened once the footsteps stopped at the door I stared at. It didn't open, there wasn't even a knock. All that happened, was there was a small shuffle, and a paper was slid under the door. The footsteps never left the door.

Was he waiting for me t read it? I left the small comfort that was my bed, and jumped over to the note.

'Want to know why I'm sorry?' the note asked. It was a simple question, with a simpler answer.

"No."

(Murdoc's POV)

I should have figured he wouldn't want to know. He never gave me time to explain. I just wanted to go back to what we were when he first came here. Just, experimental and when we were both having fun... both getting off. 

The novelty's warn off, and we both know it. There might have been a way to go back to that, but I ruined my chances of that long ago, when I was too drunk to realize I had messed up.

Drunk. I'm Pathetic. Oh, at first it was the only way I could get through a night with the guy, but now... now I hate it. I hate that it's the only way he'll let me get close to him. I hated that I did things at night that I couldn't remember the next day, and... I hated that I'd hurt him. But, sadly, it's the only thing that calms me down enough to do anything half productive now a days. 

"Stu-" I tried to talk to him through the door.

"Don't! D-don't even start you bastard!" Wow... that's new. He was normally so... submissive. It was odd for him to stand up for himself since, well, ever. 

I opened the door with ease, me having the only key to it, and invited myself in. The bloke panicked and seemed to sprint towards the bathroom, trying to put another door between us. The key worked on both. I walked in on 2D trying to stuff himself into one of the cabinet's in a shitty attempt to hide.

I grabbed him by the arm, dragging him back into the main room.

"Don't you dare run from me like that again!" The poor boy was trembling in nothing but his own nickers. "Do you hear me!?" He didn't answer me, only continued to glare at me, anger in his cold black eyes as tears threatened to spill over.

Why is he suddenly so defiant?

"What do you want from me!?" I screamed, honestly wanting to know that would make him understand.

"I want ta leave!" The tears finally ran over the edge. He gasped and hiccuped as he started to cry. My face softened for a moment as I felt like my heart was breaking.

It hasn't been this bad before. Us. This. This while situation and the island. But I gave him the only answer I could. The same answer he gave me.

"No."


	6. Chapter 6

(2D's POV)

I haven't seen Murdoc in... How long has it been? 

Two weeks, maybe.

I wasn't sure. There was no sunlight visible, even through the porthole. I couldn't tell if it was day or night. It could have been only three or so days and I honestly wouldn't know. It felt like so much longer with the waiting because I was dreading him showing up again. 

I don't understand why I'm here anymore. We were done with the album as far as I knew. He didn't come to fuck me anymore. What was I good for anymore? He got what he needed, why couldn't he just let me go. 

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. I could only look up before the door was pulled open. Murdoc stood in the doorway, bottle in hand and a paper in the other. 

"Follow me." Was all he said. Turning on his heel, he began to head towards the elevator to the upper floor. A moment passed of my trembling, too scared to stand, before another demand was yelled down the hall. "NOW!" 

In a moment of panic I ran out the room and joined him in the small metal room. The doors closed with a ear-splitting scraping noise that Murdoc didn't seemed to be affected by. 

The ride up was silent, aside from the continues scraping of metal and the hum of the mechanism while it moved upwards. I tried not to look directly at Murdoc, afraid he might say or do something if I did. It scared me just thinking about what might go on in that odd head of his. The paper he held was crumbled beyond belief and the words were so sloppily written it wasn't readable in any way. Like drunken rambles of a madman on paper that only he could read. 

The elevator came to an abrupt stop at our floor, forcing me to fall. Murdoc didn't even look at me as he walked out the door, expecting me to follow once again. I picked myself off the floor slowly, feeling very unsafe in such an unstable box held by metal strings. 

I stumbled my way into the recording studio after Mudz. I don't know if I was supposed to feel happy that I was finally out of that bleak, cold, basement, or to be scared that Murdoc had something planned for me.

"One last song, you know what to do," He said simply, shoving a different piece of paper into my hands before walking out the door. After a minute, I tried the handle.

Locked. Lovely.

The hell was I supposed to do? I wasn't given any further instructions on what to do, this isn't normally how it went. He normally stayed in the room with me. Showing me how to sing the given lines, yelling at my errors. I didn't even know if he had music for it or...

I noticed a few lights on the switchboard table. There was a sound file uploaded to one of the soundboards. I knew how to work most of the equipment, sure. I mean, I 've watched Mudz for a while now, I knew what buttons to press. Besides, he could always edit it later.

This was so weird! Why was I alone in this room? What was this about?

I looked down at the piece of paper in my hand. Like I thought, It was lyrics. I was used to getting notes on these pages, but this was ridiculous. The writing was so sloppy and rushed, and there were notes everywhere on the page. Alot where in different colors and some shit was highlighted. What the fuck!?

'Broken' was the name written on the top. Well, it wasn't the weirdest title on the album.

Oddly enough, after skimming the lines, the song seemed weirdly... sweet.

I did what I had to, to start the recording and music, singing when the note told me to step in and pausing for the given amount of beats written.

Distant stars

Come in black or red

I've seen their worlds

Inside my head

 

They connect

With the fall of man

They breathe you in

And dive as deep as they can

There's nothing you can do for them

They are the force between

When the sunlight is arising

There's nothing you can say to him

He is an outer heart

And the space has been broken

 

(What was this song supposed to be about?)

 

Broken

Our love

Broken

 

(Was this supposed to be about Murdoc? Who... Who hurt him?)

 

Is it far away in the

Glitter Freeze

Or in our eyes

Every time they leave

It's by the light

Of the plasma screens

We keep switched on

All through the night while we sleep

There's nothing you can do for them

They are the force between

When the sunlight is arising

There's nothing you can say to them

I am without a heart

And the space has been broken

 

(I wonder who had pushed him away...)

 

Broken

Our love

Broken

...

 

I wasn't sure what to think of this. I let the music finally fade out before stopping the recording.

What am I supposed to do now?


	7. Chapter 7

(2D’s POV)

I think I’ve been in here for a good… ten minutes, maybe? I have no concept of time, but I’ve just been pacing around this room for who knows how long, and I haven’t gotten any further instructions on what to do. I’ve started organizing paper at this point. I don’t know what I’m doing, I never clean! My basement room isn’t even clean and I barely have anything down there to make a mess of!

There was nothing but pens, and rum, and unfinished songs. Most of the songs weren’t readable in the slightest, but the ones that were, were actually nice. His penmanship was shit, but the lyrics…

I kept finding different versions of ‘Broken’ in its earlier stages. A lot of them were almost poetic… and, the more poetic they seemed, the more they were crumpled and torn they were. Like he hated the beautiful words that he wrote on these pages.

The door behind me creaked open, and I didn’t even turn around. I Put the papers on the desk, placing my hands on either side of the stack.

“Wha’ is this?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “W-Why… was this different than the last times? Than all the otha’ songs!” He still hadn’t answered.

“Where going back to the basement,” he said flatly.

“Please… Don’ make me…”

I heard him inhale when he walked towards me, setting his hands on my shoulders in a light grip.

“And why not?” he asked, speaking slowly.

“C-cause… I’’s cold…” I stuttered, choosing my words carefully when I was around him. He smelt like rum, but not enough to be drunk like he usually would be.

“That can be fixed,” He spoke confidently, wrapping his arms around my waist. He pressed his face into the back of my neck. I was shaking at this point.

“S-stop.”

“Why should I?” His hands settled on my hips, feeling at the waistband of my boxers. I really should have put on more clothes before we left that fucking basement. “Ooh, ya know you like it,” hands groped through the only thin material I still had on.

“Seriously, I think we should stop-”

“And I think we should continue-”

“Enough of this!” I tried to move away, to get some distance between us, but there was little space between Murdoc and the studio table. “Get off of me. Now!”

His grip on my hips got tighter, worsening the dark bruises from before. “And what gives you the authority to order me to do anything.” His voice became deep and threatening. I winced at the pain.

“Wha’... wha’ gives ya any authority over me?”

He took in a deep inhale, releasing my hips before trailing his hands up my torso.

“Oh Stu-Pot… why can’t we go back to when you were more fun. When you were actually down for a good fuck! And you weren’t such a big bitch about it…” Before I knew what he was doing his arms were under my armpits, and he had my arms trapped in his. “Because at this point… I basically own you.”

I thrashed in his grip, trying to move in any way possible. And I couldn’t move.

“This!” I yelled.

“This what?”

“This is why we can’t go back to how it was!” His grip slacked a bit, but I’m sure it would get worse if I struggled again. “The- The fighting and- and-”

“We’re going back to the basement.” All at once his grip tightened, and I was being dragged backwards into the hallway, and then the elevator.

And all at once, I was struggling again. I kicked my legs and swung my arms. It didn't do much, bit it did enough to get an arm loose. And that's when I struck him in his fucking nose. He dropped me to hold his face in pain, looking up at me in an almost amazed stare. The distance I had created between us had soon closed as he returned the hit.

My nose felt both numb and in pain at the same time, and I knew it was bleeding. A kick to my ankles and another to my shins knocked me to the floor, where he straddled me. I’d kicked my legs, but he sat on my thighs, and when I went to hit him again, he took my wrists in one hand.

I was so tired. It only took him two swings before I blacked out.

\-------------------------

Another unknown amount of time passes before I wake up. My head was throbbing, and I whimpered in pain at the new sentation of blood on my face. I tasted copper and I felt like utter shit. One thing oddly stood out though…

I was warm.

Like, really warm.

I hurt too much to really open my eyes, and went I did, the room was dark anyways. I couldn't see jack-shit, and I was more confused than I had ever been in the last few days. I tried to pick up my head, but the instant I had, sharp pain went through the back of my head. I let out a little cry of pain before dropping it back onto one of the pillows.

I let out another whimper when I felt a rough hand stroke my arm.

“I’m sorry luv… I didn' mean ta hit ya…” he spoke softly. I wanted to say something back to him, but it hurt to even think of the right words to say. I think, in a way, he really was sorry. Like, if he just though before he did things on instinct, we wouldn't be in this mess. I wouldn't be in this mess.

I wouldn't be on this island. With a breaking Murdoc. With a broken Murdoc.

“How ya doin’?” He asked, expecting some kind of answer. I opened my mouth to speak, but I could only let out whimpers and gasps. I felt the weight of the mattress dip when he went to sit down. “Can you at least talk?” His voice was a little more harsh now. I slowly brought my hands to my head, trying to silently tell him that everything hurt. “Are you not takin’ ya pills?”

'I don't have anymore,’ I wish I could say, but all I could manage was a small, “No.”

“Well why the hell not?” His voice got softer again.

“I… ain't got none more…”

He let out a gruff sigh of anger. “... Shit,” he said to himself, taking his arm off mine. I missed the warmth. I missed the only human contact I've had in days…

I missed bacon…

As if on cue, my stomach turned, making a low groan of its own.

“How many days has it been since you last ate?” He asked, more annoyed than concerned.

“Don't know.”


	8. Chapter 8

My head still throbbed as Mudz helped- er, carried me to the kitchen. I was sat at the table, head cradled in my arms while my forehead rested against the cheap laminated wood. 

Have you ever bitten your tongue so hard you can feel your heartbeat in it? That was my entire skull at this point. 

Whatever Murdoc was making, it smelt good. The radio was loud as shit, but the room smelt good. Like burnt onions and seared meat on the stove, making my stomach growl at the sent. The plate was sat gently down on the table, making very little noise. I could barely look at the plate, but I could tell it was chopped stake for that much. What kind? Fuck if I know, but god did it smell great. 

“Here,” was muttered in front of me when something else was set on the table. 

It was a small bottle with no cover and no label on it. “Wha’s this?”

“Xanax and pot. It should help the headache. Watch how much you take though, or else ya start seein’ shit... It’s fun, sometimes...” I could hear the smirk on his voice as he said it.

He set a lighter and a glass of water on the table next to the odd bottle before walking back to the other side of the kitchen by the radio. I lifted my arm enough to spill out the bottles contents and feel for the pills. I took two of the small pills and waited. 

The lights in the room were dimmed, which helped a bit, but the music was still loud. It took me a second to realise what station it was, but when Murdoc started tinkering with wires I figured out what he was doing. That fucking pirate radio show. He blocked out the music that was being broadcasted through the station and replaced it with his own voice. I didn’t pay attention to what he was saying, I couldn’t really. His words were too fast for my mind to process, but I did understand when he had announced the new song he had recently recorded. He turned off his mic before playing the record. Broken. It sounded so much better after he had edited it. 

“Ya really do have a beautiful voice ya know…” I turned my head enough to look in his direction, but he wasn’t looking back at me. 

“Why a’ ya being nice ta me right now?” 

There was a pause as the song ended, and he cut off his own broadcasting to cut back to the other station trying to get back on air. 

“I…” He took a moment to find the right words. “I wanted us to go back to how it was with the others…”

“You know we can’t-”

“Please don’t talk-”

“Noodle is dead… Russell is gone… We’re stuck on this fucking island. Things will never be the same-!”

“Stop. I don’t want to… do anything… rash, like I had before. Just, stop talking… Please.” 

Silence.

\----------------------------

The basement was still as cold as it will every be. sitting at the bottom of the sea. 

That there be poetry. 

And it sucks. Fuck.

At the moment I have good news and bad news. Bad news: I’m out of xanax. Good news: I have rolled weed and a lighter. Bad news: that was almost gone too. Good news: … there’s no more bad news? 

This room was completely hot-boxed and I don't think I've ever felt this great on this island. Numb to the world and everything around me. Higher than space with no headaches for miles. Though, how long would this last? This nirvana of nothing could only stay for so long…

The door cracked open, and I didn't even bother to look. I always knew who it would be, there was never anyone else. 

“Better?” Was all he asked. I just nodded stupidly as I sat on my bed, head laying against the wall behind me. “You better be, I'm running low, gonna have to get more… somehow…” I think he had tried growing it here before, but I don't think it ever worked. He's not patient enough for plants. We mostly just had supplies dropped by plane, but it didn't come as often as I would like. 

I can hear it sometimes. And every time I think, maybe they're here to get me… I'm always wrong. 

Murdoc climbed on the bed next to me. “You good enough for a round?” He asked, smirking and pulling up my shirt. He rubbed at my stomach and up my chest. It was still cold down here, but he was warm... So warm...

“Mudz, come on… stop…” I started, trying to scoot away from him, as much as I did enjoy the heat.

“You come on, aren't you horny? It's been over a week since I've gotten off…” his mouth found the side of my neck, “I know how you like it,” hand sliding into my trousers. “You know I know how you like i-”

“No you don't,” I replied, monotone and bored. He ignored me, like he normally did, continuing. Crooked sharp teeth bit at my collar, and his hand groped me through my boxers. I squirmed at his touches. Both good and bad. 

He knew what he was doing, and it felt… actually pretty damn. I just don't like it rough like he did. I don't like waking up the next morning, having not know what happened and having bruises run up the length of my entire body...

My mind was working so slow with all the drugs in my system, I couldn't tell what was happening until I was on my stomach, my shirt gone and a pillow in my face. Dull nails raked down my back, leaving bright red lines right down to my waistband.

I was fucked. Or at least, soon to be...


	9. Chapter 9

(Murdoc's POV)

Sweat Satan was he gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful… 

I his body was flushed red, and the scars and scratches just added to the color. Hickeys joined my masterpiece moments later, along with a fresh sliver of canvas when I pulled down his jeans. 

By now, the bruises on his hips had faded into a sickly yellow on his hips. Had I really held him that hard? I don't remember it being this bad. 

I threw his jeans across the room, letting them hit the door. I pushed my belt down to my thighs, tearing into the pocket to pull out a familiar bottle. I put my hand on his arse, loving the soft feeling of his skin against mine. He tensed at the all too familiar click of the bottle opening. 

“Don't act so innocent, ya should know the drill by now…” I waited for him to respond. He hadn't. I leaned my body down into his, my stomach flat against his back, taking the hand I had against his neck and running it through his hair. “Come now luv… this ain't no fun if ya don't play along…” 

“This isn't fun.” 

That's it? That's all he's gonna say. He's not even struggling. 

“What's wrong now? I've fucked ya higher than this and ya we're still squirmin’. Why aren't ya now?”

His hands moved up just to grab his pillow. The room was silent except for the sound of skin rubbing against fabric. His voice was small when he finally talked, “Just get this over with… just be done and leave like you always do…” His body untensed, but his hands still stayed tightly wound in the fabric he gripped. He let out a choked gasp as a finger entered him, and another as one joined it. It hadn't taken long before he was hot and ready for me.

I lined myself up with his arse, and left the head slip in. “Fuuu~ck… you're still so tight…” I left myself to slip in the rest of the way, letting out a sigh once I had bottomed out. His body was perfect. Smooth and small and thin. I tested my hands on his bruised hips, but stopped. He let out a whimper of pain once my hands touched the sides of the yellowed flesh. I move my hands on top of his shoulders against the mattress. Different grip, different angles… not as good without his arse in the air for me, but this was alright. 

Even when he tried not to, he still pulsed around me. So hot and tight and smooth, I really wouldn't last long inside him like this. Especially with him tensing every time I moved. 

I pulled out a bit and thrusted back in, making him tighten further. Yeah, I wasn't gonna last long.

I got a rhythm quickly, knowing what to hit and we're to touch him. He was hard underneath me, and he didn't dare touch himself. 

Hitting his g-spot was always fun to watch. How he tried to bite his lip and, and the rest of his face twisted up, trying to hide how he liked it. And I knew he liked it, even if he denied it. I could hear the little moans he let out. The struggled gasps for breath everytime I hit his prostate. Beautiful.

“M-Murdoc, slow d-down…” he gasped out between thrusts, his breathing becoming fast and erratic. 

I leaned back down, letting my body hover over his. I bit at the back of his ear before I spoke to him, voice low and breathing shallow. 

“Touch yourself.”

It was a simple command really, and I thought he might have wanted some kind of permission, but he hadn't made a move. I took one of the hands I had on his shoulder, and quickly ran it through his hair before bringing it to his hip. He let out a whimper at the contact, but I let my hand slip around his body and grab a hold of him. His whimpers turned into yelps and squeaks soon after. Gasps turned to groans, and moans got louder. 

His hand grabbed the wrist that was underneath him, and he buried his face deeper into the pillow, refusing to look at me. My hand didn't slow down in the slightest, even when he tried to stop it. 

I wanted to see his face. I wanted to look at him when he moaned in that beautifully melodic voice of his. Watch what expressions were made when I touched every spot that made him tense. Be able to…

He dug his nails into my wrist and let out a sharp cry. He just came. 

Oh, how deliciously tight he became after that! Fuck I was close…

I latched my teeth into the back of his neck, biting hard as I picked up speed. Moans turned to yelps and grunts turned back to gasps with my sudden change of pace. My teeth bit harder as I finally came, and I think I broke through skin. I could taste blood when I heard him scream.

“Fuckin’ hell, just s-stop already!” He said, moving his head from the pillow only for a moment before bringing it back. Even when he refused to look at me, I could still see the tears in his eyes. He let out another groan when I finally pulled out, letting his hips hit the mattress. 

I stuffed myself back into my pants before getting up and walking to the door. I barely got to it before turning back around. He hadn't moved.

“Hey…” I tried, but no response. “Oi! Look at me!” Nothing. I sped my way back over to him, lifting him by his hair and forcing him to my eye level. He let out another weak gasp of pain at the tightness of my grip. 

“Why don't you look at me?” I asked, my voice coming out softer than I thought it would. He glared at me, digging his nails into the wrist that gripped him, once again. 

He may have looked tough in the moment, but I knew he was afraid. He may be glaring, but he refused to speak and his body was shaking, like he was about to cry… 

I let his body drop back to the now dirty mattress, and walked back to the door. 

“Next time this happens, I want you to face me.”

(2D’s POV) 

He slammed the door on his way out. Leaving me to my thoughts. Once again, everything hurt, except now I was sticky. 

I started a bath in an attempt to calm down, but the water was cold, even on full heat.

So here I sit. Covered in cum and sweat in a cold bathroom with half a blunt in my mouth. Pain all over.

Maybe this is Hell.

It’s a lot colder than I thought it would be…


	10. Chapter 10

(2D’s POV)

Things hurt. Mostly my arse. Some of its my neck, but at least it’s finally stopped bleeding…

The drunk’s been outside my door for a good two minutes now. Fumbling with the keys and a half empty bottle. How is he this drunk that he can't even open a door? 

When he finally stumbled through the door, I had to stop myself from smiling. Murdoc was shirtless, hair in every direction, hazed eyes and a bloody nose. All while tripping on himself while he attempted to walk forward. It was quite a sight to behold. 

He fell face first onto my small mattress, dropping the bottle on the floor with a small ‘thud.’ 

“Oi, Stu-Pot… ya got any, any more pot, Stu-Pot?” He mumbled, half into the bedding. This Murdoc was better. Drunker, slower, calmer… better. 

“Got two blunts left, yeah,” I said softly. My headaches hadn’t returned in a while, thankfully. Maybe they were starting to get better. 

“Xanax?”

“Out.” Those were the first to go that day.

“Damn… I'd love to trip right now…” he continued to mumbled, finally sitting up in the bed. The blood from his nose had dripped onto the bed, along with smudging along Mudz face, drying awkwardly. I tried not to smile again.

It was almost funny to see him this way. So disheveled and confused. 

We were more alike this way. 

He looked like me this way. 

“Here,” I said as I used the edge of a blanked to rub at his face. It didn't help much with what was dried, but it stopped the blood flow a bit. “What happened?” 

“I hit somethin’…” 

“What did ya hit?”

“The wall, right out there,” he said, lazily pointing to the door to my room. I couldn't help but to chuckle at that response. “There it is! There's that smile…” 

He pulled out a lighter and burned the end of one of the blunts I gave him. I had my smile fade and I turned away again. 

“No, come on now. Bring that smile back to me…” he said, smiling himself. It was weird to see him smile. I simpered, but I don't think that cut it when he said, “Bigger.” 

I smiled so he could see my teeth, er… what's left of them.

“There's that smile… That pretty smile…” oh god, how drunk was he? 

I picked up the bottle from the floor. It was some kind of Captain Morgan rip off, but with a higher proof. 

“You know, on this island… I'm kinda like a Captain!” he watched the liquid shift as I took a swig. “And if I'm Captain, that makes you… my best mate.” More like buttpirate. 

I didn't even respond, I just downed another big gulp of whatever the fuck this was before Murdoc could take it way. And like I thought, he did. Taking a large gulp himself. 

“Why don't ya ever smile, mate?” his question was… odd. Or at least the way he said it was.

“Ain't got nothin’ to smile at.”

“Well… don't ya got me?” He paused to take another drink, his smile fading into a static expression. “Though recently… I can understand why not… shit, I suck.” 

We stayed in silence. The liquid in the bottle gradually getting lower as the time passed. The haze of nothing that swept over me was peaceful. It was soothing and warm, like the hands on me. Or the lips on my neck. Or the tongue on my cheek. 

He wasn't sex driven when he was like this, no… but he was very touchy. He liked to touch and feel and caress. This is why I liked him like this. He was sweet and calming and soothing… if not a bit slow.

Within the haze of nothing, I didn't even notice the hand on my thigh until he put all of his weight onto it. My head hit the pillow a moment later, and I could barely feel the room around me. Murdoc's body fell onto of mine, and after he worked his way between my legs, he managed to fall asleep. 

I can't remember if I closed my eyes or if my vision just went dark, but eventually the darkness overtook me too. And I found myself asleep and at peace, if only for a moment…

(Murdoc's POV) 

Oh shit, my fucking head… where am I?

It wasn't often that I could actually shag the guy. Less often than I would like at least. But did I fall asleep in here? What's with me and getting hammered and waking up in here?

Worst hangover ever, I can feel my pulse in my ears… wait.

I somehow managed to lift my head, looking down at the warmth under me.

Okay, so not my heartbeat, but still. 

The bloke was fast asleep, hands under his head and drooling onto the pillow. 

Sweet Satan he was beautiful. Gorgeous, really. Feminine features, with the slim face and wide eyes, and even a slender body. Tall and lanky, just how I like 'em. 

And the voice of a god… 

Even just when he talks, it's soft and sweet to listen to. And then there's his moans… better than any song I could ever write. There were so beautifully melodic and loud! Well… when he wanted them to be at least. 

I would complain more about my hangover, but the room is so hot-boxed still from the past few days, I could barely notice it anymore. That's a lie actually, but at least it's getting better. I need food. Food now would be good. Now how the hell do I get up?

The twat's got his fucking legs all wrapped around mine. I should probably wake him up, I'm sure he's hungry too… maybe hungry enough to cook for me…

“Stu.” Nothin’. “Stu-Pot. Stuart. Oi, 2D!” He moved a bit, but didn't wake up. “Hey, Face-ache!” Geez, what time even is it? Okay, the clock down here's broken, that's great. Not wearing a watch, don't have a phone -those can be tracked... 

“Mmnnh… Murdoc? Why are you down here?” Oh, now he's awake!

“Get up.”

“Why?”

“Cause I said so! We're goin’ upstairs; breakfast.” The quick shift from me standing up made him fall out of bed. That's exactly what I didn't want to happen, but it's not my fault now. 

The ride up the elevator was silent and awkward like it always was. He didn't like to talk, just looked down at his bare feet and held onto the railing as if the box might drop at any moment. As much as I hated to think about it, I knew it was getting worse. 

From the moment Stu got here, this place has gone from tropical paradise to a prison. I felt more like a warden than anything else. The one prisoner I have to keep me company hated me, was terrified of me! 

It's not fun anymore.


	11. Chapter 11

(2D’s POV)

Even though it felt like morning, it was still dark out. My sense of time has completely screwed everything up in my head.

'Breakfast’ was nice. Eggs and juice, nothing special, but still nice.

This is how my days went. Things happened like they did last night, and we pretend it didn’t, or that it was nothing. It’s the only way we can stand each other. The only way we can survive the silence.

His face was static whenever I limped down the hallways. I could try to hide the pain, but what was the point. I wasn't even looking for sympathy anymore, it was just tiring trying to hide the pain he already knew about. That he had caused. I wonder if he was proud of himself. For me it was always kind of endearing seeing my late night flings do the walk of shame home, but I'm not sure if this has the same effect here.

“What?” I heard him grumble from across the room. I had my head resting on the kitchen table, just looking off into empty space. My head didn't hurt this time, but now my lower back did, and I just wanted to rest, just sleep, I haven't slept in so long… Pretend none of this was happening. That I was back at Kong with Noodle and Russel, watching TV and curled up in a blanket on our gross old couch. I loved that couch.

Instead I'm here, holding my knees to my chest and balancing on a stiff wooden chair. Nothing but a shitty radio playing swing filled the silence in the back of the room.

“Oi,” Mudz spoke up again, waving his hand in front of my face when he walked over. I looked up at him, but with the black of my eyes, I don't think he can tell. He ran his hand through my hair, and I didn't stop him. What would be the point. “Hey… ya alright?” His voice was almost soothing, even if it was cold and gravely.

“Why would ya care…” I mumbled. Every now and again, Mudz would get these little glimpses of concern. I wonder if he actually cared, or if I'm just subconsciously making it up for my own sake. I don't know the difference anymore. Was there a difference? Shit.

He said nothing back to me, just walked back to tinkering with his pile of electronics over in the corner. Concern now gone once again. What was he making?

After another few moments of silence, I got the strength to fuel my curiosity, and walked/limped over to the mangled pile of wires Murdoc seemed to hover over. Either he ignored me, or he was to invested in his work to notice me. Either way, the music continued to hum in the background, encouraging him to work, and breaking the silence of the room, though not by much.

“What do ya need, Tusspot.” It wasn't really a question. He sounded bored and unfocused.

“It's just Pot.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Now what is it?” He didn't even look back at me when he spoke, just continued tinkering with the small exoskeletal parts.

“... What is it?”

“What's what?”

“What are you working on… what’s it supposed to be?” He paused for a moment, a flash of emotion ran over his face, but it disappeared before I could tell what it was.

“Don't worry about it,” he spoke again. His voice surprisingly soft and depressed.

(Murdoc's POV)

I don't need the dullard thinking I'm crazy or obsessive. He didn't push the subject any further, but he sat on a chair next to me, watching me work.

He looked almost fascinated by it. The soldering of wires and melting of metal together. The frame for this was coming out nicely, but I didn't know how to get it to move in the ways I needed it to.

Out of nowhere, Stuart just collapse out of his chair, slamming his head on the ground. He didn't make a move to get up.

I quick shut off the equipment and looked at him.

Okay he's breathing… hearts okay…

The bruises on his face looked better, but the bags under his eyes were definitely worse.

“Hey, wake up. Idiot, awaken,” I gently slapped the side if his face. He didn't make a move, or even a noise. He was out cold, unconscious. “Shit.”

I picked him up, bringing him to my room. I could have put him back in the basement, but I had things to work on, things to do, not enough time. I had to prepare before they found me.

How much did the boy weigh? A grown man shouldn't be this light.

I layed him down on a few pillows, his body limp and warm to the touch, and covered him in blankets. His fingers twitched at the motions, and a small mumbled was let out. I signed to myself, glad that he wasn't injured, or had even gone back into comatose. I was almost happy to see him sleeping. Glad he was finally getting some rest.

I know he didn't sleep well. He never did at Kong. The headaches and pain kept him up, and if this didn't the nightmares did. And I'm sure the whale in the basement room didn't help that much.

I'm sure I didn't help it much.

What a friend was I.

I tried to get back to work, but now I was distracted. I put everything back away, shoving things into the cabinets it had been in before. Unorganized and haphazardly placed.

When I went back into my room, I noticed 2D had shifted. The blankets were wrapped tighter around his body, and one of his legs stuck out from the sheets. Just a tuff of his hair stuck out from the top of the wound comforter.

He looked calm, for once. His breathing shallow and even, his head smothered in my mountain of pillows. Silk sheets tightly wound around his body... And I couldn't look anymore. I made a b-line for the attached bathroom. I could fuck him later, but he really needed sleep. I needed sleep. I needed cold water.


	12. Chapter 12

(2D’s POV)

Warm. I woke up and it was so warm, and comforting, and I didn't want to move. 

But I had to pee.

Squinting into the darkness, I noticed I was in Murdoc's room. Weird, when did that happen. Why the hell am I in here? 

Okay, bathroom. It's across the room, I just gotta stand up and- okay, standing hurts. Fuck. 

I finally managed to roll myself out of bed enough to make it to the floor, then knees and legs. Stumbling to the door, I opened it to find Murdoc with his head in the sink, his whole face completely submerged in water. 

A gasp of air brought him back to reality, and he instantly noticed my presence. 

“What!” He yelled toward me. Probably surprised I had been awake. He slicked back his soaked hair, and looked expectantly at me.

“I gotta use ya lue.” 

He said nothing, pushing past me and closing the door. I could hear him shuffling around on the other side, moving things and closing drawers. It was odd hearing everything so quiet. Even in the basement there was a small sickening hum of generators, but now… there was nothing. Silence. Just him moving in the other side.

I was quick with what I did, and I tried to leave as quickly as I could. But I was not prepared for what I had to see when I opened the door.

Murdoc sat on the bed, facing me as I open the door. He sat manspread and hands on his knees. 

“Get on the bed.” 

The calmness of his voice scared me more than anything. Calm and cold and serious. I looked over to the door. Only seven feet, maybe. Could I make that? I mean... It would only take a second…

“It's locked. Come here.” He looked up at me expectantly. Mentally, I froze. My feet moved on instinct and stepped towards him, and once I was close enough he pulled me to him. 

One movement lead to the next, and I found myself on my back, pressed against the sheets. Murdoc had his hands on my thighs and his mouth against my neck. His body on top of mine and in between my legs. I froze while my hands held onto the bedding while my arms shook too much to do anything else. He was being too gentle, it was unnerving! My whole body was shaking in anticipation,for the biting and scratching and bruising that normally came, but it never really did. There were soft nibbles here and there, sure. And even when I felt his grip on my legs, I never felt his nails. His grip turned into groping, my thighs, hips, arse… terrified at how gentle he was being. 

His hips ground into mine, but it wasn't hard like it normally would be. It was lazy yet calculate. Like when he was drunk. Gentle and slow, but Mudz didn't even smile like it. He didn't act like it either. I still knew that if I made one wrong move, he'd snap, so I'm just going to lay here and not do anything. Just like any other time this happened. Except this time I'd have to look at him, watch him… do this to me. 

Why? 

His hands rode up my shirt, pulling it off of me. I had to raise my arms to do so, not that I really had a choice, so now they gripped the pillow above my head while he flung the shirt out of reach.

My neck was a rainbow of colors and bruises already, and now it was more red than anything. I felt his hands move to mine, and my wrists were now pinned. It's not like I was really gonna move them, but I think it gave him some kind of power. The power of knowing I couldn't do anything, that he had total control. 

The other hand went to my chin. He turned my head so it wasn't buried into my arm.

“Open your eyes.”

He wasn't asking, it was definitely a command, but I shook my head anyways. I didn't want to watch this.

“Stu…” the hand that was on my stomach made its way to my neck. There was a slight press against my windpipe as a warning. “I swear to god… look at me.”

His voice was lower, darker. The longer I kept my eyes closed, the tighter his grip got. I squinted up at him, showing that I was looking, wanting him to stop. His grip loosened, but he kept his hand on my neck. 

All I could do was stare up at him, trying to read the static expression on his face. 

The things that scared me here were odd. I'm not scared when I know he's gonna hurt me, no. I'm scared when I don't know what he's thinking. When I don't know if the next move he makes is going to burn with pain or passion. 

His head lowered to mine. His lips to my ear. “I want you to look at me… don't close your eyes… and don't turn away…” and then his voice was soft again. Almost a whisper. His eyes met mine, letting both his hands land on each side of my hips. 

My wrists felt bruised… well, even more bruised.

I did as he said, I kept my eyes in his, on him. He bit at my hips-- sharp bone against sharper teeth-- and fiddled with my jean buttons. Every now and then he'd glance up. Our eyes would lock before he would go back to his unwanted task. 

My jeans and boxers were pulled down to my thighs, and I gasped as my semi hit the air. I didn't want to be hard, but with all the touching, and the heat, it was just a natural response at this point. I should be numb to this by now, but I couldn't help it. 

My throat tightened when I felt his lips around my head. The rest of me was soon engulfed into the tight heat of his mouth, he was careful with his teeth at least. Not sure how thankful I should be for that. 

He didn't spend much time like that, just enough to get me hard. God, was I hard… 

He moved to pull my trousers off all of the way, throwing them carelessly across the room, before crawling back between my legs. I still kept my arms above my head, to afraid to move them without permission, scared that he'd snap, or maybe choke me again. He took a second to get rid of his own pants as well.

Arms traced up my sides, and his legs nudged my thighs apart. My body further stiffened when he took my legs, wrapping them around his waist. I couldn't do anything except stare at his chest. He told me to watch him, thankfully he didn't say where. I don't think I'd be able to look him in the eye, or even at his face. I'm so used to just spacing out and taking it, but that's so hard to do when you're told to pay attention. 

A hand went back to my wrists, holding them down to the mattress, harder than before. The other hand went to my chin, holding my face in place, and focusing my eyes in his.

“I said look at me…”


	13. Chapter 13

(2D’s POV) 

I looked at him, but he didn't look at me. He kept his eyes closed when he pressed his forehead to mine. My wrists were bruised in Murdoc’s vice grip, and so was the thigh he held onto. My arse hurt more than anything though. There was enough lube, but not nearly enough preparation… I didn't hurt now, but I knew I'd feel it in a few hours, when this was over.

“Fuck, Stu…” Mudz mumbled against my cheek. “No matter how many times I fuck ya… you're always so… fuckin’…” he said again, only stopping to bit at my ear and moan into it. It was one of the few places he didn't usually touch, the one place without teeth marks or bruises. His biting moved down, behind my ear, down my jaw, back to my neck. 

At least I could stare at the ceiling now. Still and emotionless as any other time. At least I could breath better like this, than with my face in a pillow.

It really wasn't as bad as it could have been. Besides his grip, the movements were soft, and even though things would sting, nothing was in any true pain. If this were someone else, I may have actually enjoyed it, but I didn't. I couldn't and I didn't, and parts of me still hurt, and there was no emotions except for lust and greed…

This wasn't sex after all, just a quick fuck. That's all I was here. 

But like this… this was too close, too intimate. It wasn't normal, not even for Murdoc. 

His stomach rubbed down on my hard-on, and I couldn't help but to grind up onto the hard heat for some kind of friction. For some kind of relief, instead of just staring at this damn ceiling doing nothing.

Teeth were on my shoulder and collarbone, gentler than normal, softer. More lips than teeth, but still. A shiver ran up my spine when he managed to hit my prostate. The feeling was unwanted, but oh, so good…

I hadn't even realized I had been moaning until he had done the same into my ear, again. I bit at my lip as best I could, but groans still made there way through. I couldn't deny that he at least knew what he was doing, fuck did he know… but I kept myself silent. It was still him after all. Still him doing this to me, making me watch, making me listen. 

In minutes I was spent, and then so was he. He didn't get up right away, instead laying completely on top of me, still inside of me. Until his, er- our, panting calmed down. I didn't move, I don't speak, I was almost too scared to breath properly! It was actually quite hard to breath right with him on top of me, face still in my neck, hands on top of mine. Though his grip was softer now, than it had been. It wasn't like a vice, if anything it was almost, dare I say, delicate.

He lifted his head, and instantly his eyes went to mine, and I couldn't read his expression. It wasn't cold, or angry like it normally would have been. He looked down at my mouth, and for a second I almost thought he would've- 

His sudden movement ripped me from my thoughts, just as he had ripped himself from me. So soon, too fast. Another reason for it to hurt later in the night. Or was it morning? I don't even know anymore.

He slammed the bathroom door behind him. I didn't hear the lock, but when he started the shower I figured he'd be in there for a bit. God, could I use a decent shower. Even if I wanted to get up, I don't think I could. Just laying here I could feel my legs turning to jelly. All I could do now was curl up in a sad attempt to get warm again. It's already warm. Really warm.

(Murdoc's POV)

Sweet merciless Satan, he's beautiful. I never want to leave this tight heat. Or stop feeling that racing heartbeat of his against my chest, hammering like a rapid drum inside of him. I don't even want to leave this now bloodied neck of his. 

I managed to lift my chest off of his, I needed to get up. But I took one last look at his face before I did. He was flushed with embarrassment and pleasure and hate, and god he was gorgeous. 

If only… all I'd have to do is lean down. Just a few inches. 

No. 

Stop. I couldn't, it'd be too… confusing. Yeah, sure, that's the word. 

I stood quickly and quietly, running to the bathroom. Now I really needed a shower. With really hot water. To the point where when I stepped in, it burned. This is how I got my head straight. 

I never feel good about what I do, or at least not after. While it's happening yeah, fuck does it feel good, but after… I feel like shit. Like I do now. But the feeling of him is more than addicting, he's like a drug, stronger than coke or heroine or, fuck it, even meth. I'd know, I've done it all! 

And none of it was ever as good as Stuart.

The water from the faucet has gone cold at this point. I half ass wash my hair and step out, not even bothering to dry myself off before heading to my worn-out mattress…

… That apparently still had a worn-out 2D on it.

Poor thing was completely unconscious, physically (and emotionally) drained. He kept himself curled in a tight ball, just on the very corner of the bed. Blue hair covering a porcelain pale face, and hiding those dark eyes.

I sat down close to him, not knowing where to go at this point. What to do. I pushed his hair out of his face. It was sad really, that this was the only way I could see him calm. The only time he didn't look completely terrified if I came near him. 

I don't remember when it got this bad. I know it was my fault though. I know that, too many drinks in, I couldn't control my actions. One thing lead to another, and I found myself in his room, on his bed, holding him down… fuck, what's wrong with me?

2D study in his sleep, making me move my hand away. Sleep, that's all he seemed to do, and yet, he never had enough if it. 

So pale, so thin. Too thin. I fed him, he ate whenever I ate. Whether it was in his room or upstairs with me, but he still didn't eat much. I could see his ribs. I wish I could help...

Stop. 

Sleep. I need… sleep...


	14. Chapter 14

(2D’s POV)

“Get up.” 

“What?” I mumbled, drowsiness coating my voice. I looked at the bedside clock. It just hit noon, so I've only been asleep for a few hours at best. “Why?” 

“You’re nothing but skin and bones, so here, eat it.” A plate was set in my legs while I sat up. My hair pointed in every direction possible, I'm sure. The plate had eggs and toast, simple, yet pretty good.

“But I'm not hungry.” I'm not sure if that was true truth or not. Between the pain and nausea, all I could focus on were painkillers. Though, those did often make me numb to hunger pains too… 

“I don't care. Eat.” 

And with that being said, he left. Locking the door being him probably. From one cage to another I guess, although this was much better than my basement room. 

The eggs were pretty good actually. At the apartment, Murdoc couldn't cook for shit, but now it was actually… good? Good’s not the right word. Passable fits better, but still, it was an impressive improvement. It's pretty hard to fuck up eggs though. Same with the toast. Burnt and soft and drowning in butter. How I liked it actually. 

So I guess it was… ‘good.’ Not the greatest thing in the world, but once I started eating I realized how hungry I really was. I ate just a few hours ago, why was I so hungry? I guess I didn't eat much. I still didn't. After the eggs and half of the first piece of toast, I couldn't fit anymore. 

I'm done, now what. 

Footsteps were heard on the other side if the door, along with the click of the lock. And then the footsteps we're gone. 

I made my way to the kitchen with he half empty plate in hand, and set it in the table. Murdoc was in the living room, again toying with electronic pieces and parts. He wore shades while he worked with a low heat welder. Small sparks skidded around the room with every press of the weld’s trigger. 

I'd guess what it was he was working on if I could, but there were so many pieces and parts half assembled, I couldn't. It was almost a half ball of wires and metal plates, while Mudz seemed to be working with the dismantled other half. Things looked like they moved, with multiple small presses and rubber bands.

One odd thing that freaked me out was on the table. It was a cleaned out ashtray filled with, what looked to be, metal teeth! 

Not gonna question it. 

I sat on the couch behind him, while he sat on the floor, lights dimmed and metallic, plastic and rubber parts surrounding him and covering his lap. 

“H-Hey,” I spoke up, prompting him to stop when he was doing. He put his shades on and turned towards me. “Where'd you get the scrap part?” I figured if the supply ship had brought it he'd have been working on it sooner than now. Besides, I've been keeping track if the days (as best I could), another week or so till the next drop.

“Washed up on shore.” It was a flat answer, but it made sense. The beach was like a magnet for waste and garbage, all he'd had to do was clean the scraps that washed up.

The room was again flooded with a comfortable silence, aside from the hissing of the welder. I'm sure it wasn't good for my already damaged eyes, but how much worse could it get. My vision was already blurred to shit…

“SHIT!” Murdoc screamed, all of a sudden stopping everything he was doing. “Bathroom, first-aid, now!” 

“What!?” 

“Go in my bathroom and find the gauze!” His hand held his now burnt and bleeding arm, looking to have cut himself on a piece of smoldering metal. “Fuck, NOW!”

I jumped from my spot on the couch, rushing to his room’s bathroom, as far as I could before the bleeding got worse. I would've told him to go to a hospital if I could have, but I know he'd just ignore me, or maybe even hit me for the dumb idea.

Not under the sink, or cupboard… behind the mirror? Yes! 

It was being a lot of shit, like beer or cologne, lube, condoms… that shit.

Running back to the living room area, Murdoc was still clutching his arm, items moved off if his lap, and moved to the floor, while he was now sitting on the couch. I sat down next to him, and he didn't even look at me, just the small box in my hands. Opening it, there was much left. All the sterilizing wipes and bandages were gone, but there was wrap tape and gauze left. I did as best I could to compress the wound and reduce bleeding, but as soon as we were done, Murdoc just sat back down on the floor, continuing to work. 

I wasn't expecting a ‘thanks’ or anything, but why would he just continue working on something so obviously dangerous? 

When he finally realized that his injury was slowing him down, he decided to stop. Different coolants and oils covered his legs when he went to the fridge for a beer. He sat down next to me, handing me the bottle.

“My hand hurts, open it,” he side, voice gruff and tired. I did, handing the open bottle back to him. He took it without question, holding it to his wrapped arm after taking a sip. “Thanks.”

“What?” 

“You got back fast, so… thanks.” He spoke quietly. 

“Well… than, ya welcome.” And I spoke just as small.

The room was comfortable in a way. A soft silence, a break of calm, considering what had just happened. 

I hadn't even noticed I had been humming until Mudz told me to stop. Instead I then tapped my fingers together to the beat in my head. 'I see their world, inside my head…’ 

He looked at my hand next, then me. A silent request to stop. ‘... they breathe you in, and dive as deep as they can…’

For a few moments we just sat there. Silent and calm and comfortable.


	15. Chapter 15

(2D’s POV) 

I felt like I could count the minutes if I tried. How long we stayed in silence. Until I finally broke it. 

“Last night...” I started, but I wasn't sure how to continue. I had his attention at least. “I thought… I, I thought that you were gonna…” I stuttered with my words.

“Spot it out Pot,” Murdoc said, voice just as calm as it had been before.

“Why didn't you kiss me?”

There was a pause before he stood up, not looking at me. And he just, walked. Right through the living room, and kitchen, right to the balcony. Leaving me alone in a room surrounded by parts.

(Murdoc's POV) 

Fuck. FUCK! 

I fucked up. 

I never should have leaned down. 

Never should have… put that idea in his head. Trying to put some kind of connection, or emotion into this kind of relationship was… complicated. It was risky and confusing and complicated.

I'd say I needed a smoke, but there were none left. No pot, or cigs, or any other drug that could help calm me down. Help me forget. Ignore. I didn't want to think. 

Normally when I didn't want to think, I'd go to Stu… but he was the problem this time. Or at least, I was his problem. It was too soon to do anything with him anyways. I'd give him some kind of break, for now at least.

Walking back into the room I noticed, he hadn't moved from his spot. He just continued to stare at the robotic pieces, trying to figure out what it was supposed to be. Damn, the boy was to afraid to even follow me now, wasn't he. When Noodle was still around, Stu and I, we were the best of friends, --or at least as good of friends as someone could get with me-- but now… he probably wouldn't stop me like he did. 

He wouldn't come running to the loud music. Wouldn't break open the door after hearing the click of the safety. Wouldn't take the gun away while it was cocked. 

He wouldn't save me now. Would he.

Maybe when we were younger. But now, with all the shit I've put him through. All the pain and suffering and mental torture… 

I'd want me dead too. 

I've wanted me dead for years now. I've thought about it, planned it out. I could come up with a few hundred ways to do it. Most wouldn't even hurt. It'd be quick, painless. 

I didn't deserve it quick-

“Mudz, ya alright?” His voice shook me from my disturbed thoughts. 

I ran a hand over my face, “Fine. 'm fine.” No, I'm not even close. I need a drink. I need to get drunk. I'm a happy drunk. It's more fun for me, and probably the people around me.

What liquor I had left in the kitchen wasn't great, and the alcohol content wasn't even that high. But enough of it wouldn't matter. 

Stu looked confused when I handed him a few of the drugstore booze bottles. 

“I needed to be hammered yesterday. Join me, will ya?” I could tell he wanted to smile. Maybe he was looking forward to me stupid. He liked me better that way, when my mood swings calmed down. 

“I… I would luv that,” he said, as happily as he could without smiling. He didn't like to smile around me. Didn't like to show himself giving in. He didn't want it to go back to normal… he didn't think it could go back. I don't think it could.

But I could try. 

Half a bottle in, and I had the music cranked to 80’s rock. Stuart… he was drunk. For once he had out drank me, and he could barely stand. He was drunk, and stupid, and giggling. And smiling like the idiot he was. That perfect toothless grin.

He needed this. I needed this. I needed him to be happy, to relax for once. This really wasn't it, not even close, but it was better than nothing. Better than letting him think he was just wasting away on this imprisoning beach. 

At this point, I'd let him leave if I could, but I had no way off the island anymore. And even if we could leave, where would we go? How would we avoid the pirates and all the others looking for me, looking for us. Noodle was gone, and Russell was missing, so I don't have to worry about them, but Stuart. 

He's all that was left. 

Even if I let him go, he'd just be found again, by the enemy. Without him… there'd be no one left to stop me from getting another gun…

I needed more alcohol. There were too many words, swimming in my head. Too many thoughts, too many reasons, questions, answers that I didn't want!

“Hey,” Stuart spoke up again. I kept losing myself in my own head. 

“Hm?” All I could manage at this point was a noise. I didn't want to talk, not really. 

“Ya neva answered the question…” he mumbled off.

“Which one?”

He shifted in his seat, turning towards me. Leaning towards me. 

“Why didn’ you…” he drunkenly stumbled over his own words. “...kiss me? You were, were, gonna kiss me… weren' ya?”

I'm sure whether I told him the truth or not, he wouldn't remember this in a few hours. 

“Did you want me to?” I asked right back. He didn't answer, just moved back to where he had sat before. On the other end of the sofa, as far from me as he could manage. 

Smile gone. Curiosity gone. We could have had something again, started something again... and I ruined it. 

Again. 

“Stu.” He took another sip out of the bottle, but he eventually turned to me. “Did you want me to?” 

There was another long pause before he answered. “I.. it wouldn't…” he couldn't think of the right words to say. “It would make things less… intimidating. Yeah?”

“... Yeah…?”

“Less… forced, yeah?” he said again, looking at me. I just nodded. He starting to chuckle to himself while he took another swig. I laughed a bit too. 

He needed this. We needed this. 

Maybe next time.

Next time I could try it.

Next time I wouldn't hurt him as much. 

Next time...


	16. Chapter 16

(2D’s POV)

I don't know how in all hell I managed to get back down to the basement room, but I have the worst hangover. Like a five star, forgot the last few hours of my life, kind of hangover. I'd question where I was if I didn't already hate the answer.

My back hurt like I fell down a flight of stairs. Not 'get fucked,’ kind of pain, more of a 'I woke up on a cement floor,’ kind of pain. Did I mention I had woke up on the floor?

As soon as I stood up, I noticed Murdoc had actually taken my bed for himself. Covers thrown around the room and pillow on top of his head, instead of under it. Body awkwardly contorted into a way only he could possibly find comfortable.

The bathroom was trashed. Even if there wasn't much in the cupboard, there was still every possible thing spilled on the floor. Spilled is the wrong word, but…

I haphazardly pushed everything onto the corner with my foot. I'd deal with that later.

Maybe I'd pick up the soap though.

I stepped into the cold tile that was the shower floor, and braced myself for the water. And once again it was freezing fucking cold. I don't know if I even really needed a shower, but I just needed something to wake me up. Something to sooth my back (though it wasn't really working). Something to get rid of the headache.

Being awake for this kind of hangover wasn't what I had wanted to do today. But it's better to power through it, than let it get worse.

I rested my head against the tile in front of me, letting the cold water rush over me. I wasn't paying attention to my surrounding, I didn't think I needed to. But I guess I had been really out of it, because I hadn't even noticed the curtain open behind me.

I did notice the voice though. I noticed his hand on my shoulder blade, and the other that turned off the water.

“Wha’?” I asked, hearing his voice, but not listening to the words.

“I said, your water sucks… I thought I fixed that…” The hand on my shoulder soon turned into an arm on my back, and I was so tempted to just lean into that soothing heat. But just knowing who it was, I couldn't find myself doing it. Instead, I stepped out of the shower, and headed towards my bed. 

I didn't want to deal with him. I didn't want to argue, or fight, or fuck… I just wanted to sleep and drug the time away until I either got rescued… or killed.

The bed sunk down behind me, while I wrapped myself in as much blanket as I could. It was still warm from him, but at the moment, I didn't mind. I felt his hand on my neck, but it wasn't rough. It was just a touch. Something soft, and warm, and careful.

It was different. It was almost… nice.

Yet I ignored it.

I don't want Murdoc to think he can just get away with anything he wants because he acts nicer the next day.

“Stop.” It was a simple request, and thankfully he did. The soft heat from his hand was now gone, and I was left alone once again.

He got up and walked to the door, before turning back to me and speaking, “I’m goin up ta take a shower… do ya um…” he had to pause for a minute, figuring out what he was gonna say next. “Wanna use a shower that works?”

“... The shower works down here.” Sorta.

“The water ain't too hot though,” he paused again. “the elevator's workin if ya change ya mind,” and then he left. Left the door open too. And with every step, that echoed down the hall, I kept thinking 'warm.’

(Murdoc's POV)

I wasn't expecting him to follow me. I just thought that, maybe, he'd like the gesture. The knowledge that he has at least some kind of freedom.

I had no idea how bad the temperature had gotten down there, but I had no idea where else to put the lad. I had made the island a form of luxury, sure, but it was a hideout. I made it as comfortable as possible, but the building was built more for survival than anything. I only had so many rooms for equipment and weaponry, so when I had brought Stuart to the island, I only had one other place to put him.

I guess a few hundred feet under sea-level wasn't exactly the warmest place in the world.

When I stepped into my own shower, there was an immediate contrast in temperature. The instant water hit my skin, it felt like fire running down my body.

I had to completely fuck with the lever to not feel like I was burning alive. And then I was back to cold, and I just kinda… left it there. Because I felt like I deserved it. Because I knew I did.

Now, again I say, I wasn't expecting him to follow me. And I definitely hadn't expected to find him sitting on my bed when I left the washroom. Yet there he sat.

I must have had the most shit eating grin in my face, because when he stood up he said, “I'm just here to bathe. Not’in’ else.”

I stepped aside, more or less just heading towards my drawers for a new pair of clothes. “Need anythin'?” I offered, holding up a pair of knickers. He grabbed them from my hand as quick as he could and slammed the bathroom door behind him. Clicking the lock and everything.

Once I got dressed I realised… he didn't have any clothes with him. Heck he didn't have much clothes in general, I could only have his kidnapper grab so much from his apartment before shipping him over here.

I picked up a random t-shirt and pants before unlocking the bathroom door. I stayed quiet with what I did, setting down the new clothes and grabbing the old to throw in the wash. But I had to stop for a second and just listen. I had to hear him sing to himself, mumbling words he had made up himself, because I knew it hadn't been a song I had heard before, and it was nothing I had written.

“With the holograms beside me, I'll dance alone tonight… In a mirrored world, are you beside me… all my life…” it was barely a mumble of lyrics, but the melody was so soft and soothing. I closed the door and walked away, throwing the dirty clothes into my pile with the rest of the laundry I had to do. Eventually.

I grabbed one of the many notebooks I had scattered around my room, sitting by the door for the few minutes he stayed in the shower. And I just listened. To the mumblings coming from the other side of the door, scribbling down anything I could understand. And then the water stopped.


	17. Chapter 17

(2D’s POV)

When I walked out of the shower, Murdoc had just been on the bed. Silently scribbling words into his books. And for a moment… it almost felt normal again…

It reminded me of when we used to live at Kong. Like, walking out if my room to see him like this on the couch. As much as I hated to think this, I did miss it. I missed the calm nature of it. The familiarity of it. When he got like this, in this headspace of thinking and working, he was easier to talk to. Easier to predict and understand, because all his focus was on the words, and not me.

I sat down on the other side of the bed, just enough to see what he was writing. His bandage wrapped wrist scraping against the paper with every movement. He hadn't even noticed me until the bed had dipped. And even then all he did was give me a glance before returning right back to the page.

I didn't even bother to try and understand his handwriting, so instead, I just leaned back and thought of the toon I had been making up. Something slow and soothing. I hadn't even noticed I had been nodding my head to a beat until the pen's scratching changed. It went from words to the scrapping of long lines, like he was drawing out the notes in a staff. Like he knew the toon in my head without even asking for it…

“Wazzat say?” I asked, pointing towards the few lines that I thought said choras.

“I'm in a stalkin’ bar,” he said, voice monotone while he continued to write.

I tried to make out what the next for words were, and silently sang to it, “I'm in a stalking bar, I got debts, and I'm a debaser… what's a ‘debaser?’”

“That's just… me, I guess. Someone who makes things around them worse… or useless…” he trailed off.

“Ya know, I'm not gonna defend ya against yourself. I won't do it just ‘cause we friends.”

He took a pause for a moment, “We're still friends? After all I've done to you?”

“...You're the closest thing I got to it, ain't ya?” And with that, the silence began again. He didn't even go back to writing, more like, mindlessly doodling on the edge of the page. I ruined his train of thought for the song it seemed.

So it seemed, until he starting singing again. Writing again, “I was about to make love, but I'm just a heartbreaker…”

“Saturn.”

“What?”

“Saying ‘I’m’ is too on the nose. Use somethin’ else.”

“Why Saturn?” He asked, writing it down.

“I don't know. It just sounds pretty I guess. Like, Saturnz about to make love, And I'm just a heartbreaker…”

I didn't think I'd have another calm afternoon like this while I was here. It was… refreshing. In a way.

It was sweet. Until it wasn't.

Until he set down the notebook, and leaned in. And his chin hit my shoulder, and his lips hit my neck. And I just kinda… leaned into it. I hadn't meant to, but the situation, the environment, was too similar to how this all started. It was like an instinct to give in and enjoy it.

And I really could have. I could have started over, we could have done this over and tried it again. But then I backed away, and in that moment of panic…

(Murdoc's POV)

I don't know why I did it… well, okay I know why I did it, I just don't know why I did it then.

I-I just… panicked! And I didn't want him to move, or leave, and… as soon as I touched him.

And his lips felt so good against mine…

And then I kissed him.

And then he pulled away. And it felt like… the whole world was crumbling around me because I didn't know what to do.

“Don't,” he spoke softly against my cheek. “Not now.”

But even that gave me a little hope that something could be salvaged from all of this mess. A simple 'not now,’ doesn't mean not ever.

Maybe in time, he'll want to be mine again. Like when he first got here, and nothing was perfect, but he was okay. Russell may have been missing and Noodle may have been dead, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been because Stuart was okay.

But as we sat there on my bed, and the full gravity of everything hit me again after all these years… I started… I started to cry.

And he held me in his arms as this grown man had a mental breakdown from years and years of stress and anxiety and depression, all bottled up into anger and fear… and he held me there. I felt like a child, clutching onto the sides of his shirt, trying my best to be silent, like I would when I was little. I've been broken for so many years, and Stuart's the only one who's ever tried to put me back together. Even if the pieces don't fit in the right places, or there were ones missing, or if he had to make do with tape and glue, but now… I don't know what to do.

And I'm falling apart at the seams after what's been more than twenty years of trying to hold it all together…


	18. Chapter 18

(Murdoc's POV)

We didn't talk about it. He knew that I didn't like that level of emotion, so we didn't speak of it. We wouldn't forgot what had happened, but I wasn't ready to confront it. Not yet.

I had been so caught up in the mindless drama that I had almost forgotten that today was Thursday. The plane's drop off day. I had even called the flyer a few days before to order specifics, medication, drugs, cigs... anything and everything I could have needed. And a small heater.

When I waited outside for the packages to crash, 2D stood by the door. My previous episode must have humanized me a bit, because he wasn't as scared to check in on me. Or maybe he was more scared for me now than ever, and felt the need to keep an eye on me. Either way, I'm not alone as often...

There was no place for the plane to land, so I wasn't surprised when crates started crashing to the 'sand'. 2D must have jumped ten feet in the air though, because when the first one landed, he yelped. Words were crudely spray painted onto the sides of the boxes, like 'kitchen/food', 'meds/drugs', 'basement'... And Stuart seemed to perk up a bit at the sight of that, because, even in the beginning, I hadn't gotten anything for the basement. And digging through all the protective bubble wrap and packing nuts, it was amazing how his eyes went wide at something as simple as a space heater. He hadn't said a word, but he did let himself smile, which was considered rare now a days, on this island.

For the first time in a long time, I actually had help putting away the supplies. Though he may have only helped to get his meds sooner. It was nice, considering I couldn't lift anything heavy with my bandaged arm.

Speaking of the arm, I had asked for better tools as well. Under all the bottles and boxes of cigarettes and drugs, was a cleaner welder, and a metal file. Along with some more safety precautions, like gloves, darkened mask, coolants... whatever I could think of that I thought I needed, I ordered it.

And I set it in the living space by the couch we're I had been working. Where everything still sat, and every little peice of metal still laid in either the carpeting or on the tile floor if the kitchen. There were just pieces and parts scattered everywhere. And the blood on the carpet that I haven't bothered to clean from the few nights before.

And I did as best I could tell get back to work. I had been finishing the metal skeletal structure before I had gotten hurt, and thought about starting off where I had ended. I didn't have tried strength for that though. Instead, I had started work on something smaller and less time consuming. So one by one, I placed and stick welded each tooth into frame on the jaw, trying to make them as straight as possible. Trying to make them look as human as possible. A small jaw on a delicate face with seemingly random wires and connective joints coming out of every direction possible that could be programmed later.

I had already put in hidden weaponry in every possible place I could hide it. Even if it looked human I wanted it to be functional!

To my surprise, 2D had actually came back after a while. Sitting on the couch behind me, and keeping me company while I worked. He brought a ukulele up from somewhere in the basement, tuning it and strumming the chords he hasn't played in so long. At least listening to the sounds of someone re learning an in instrument was better than having him sulking in that too cold a room.

Besides, he was probably bored.

Now that I'm looking at the metal face again I'm thinking that I should order something that resembles skin. Latex or silicone or something. Something smooth and pale and perfect like hers. The teeth turned out more crooked than expected, but it gave the face a little character. Besides, it was close enough.

Stuart finally got that thing tooned but the time I had reset the jaw in place, and my sweet Satan, was he beautiful. The voice of a god if I'd ever heard one. That cool liquid gold, slipping through my fingers once again, but this time I wasn't trying to hold it. I wasn't the one to force him to sing like I had been for the past, however, many months.

It was nothing but mumbles and humming, but I could tell what song it was. I had written it after all.

Broken~

Our love is...

Hearing his voice like this was both relieving and heartbreaking. And it hurt even more when our eyes met again, and he realized I had stopped working for the day. I'd start up again on my project before next week, but I had to get silicone for it...

He looked at me, trying to move his jaw like he was going to speak, but couldn't find the words. I don't know if sitting next to him on the couch helped or made it worse, but he avoided my eyes before he tried to talk again.

"I think we should talk... about last night..."

I didn't want to, "What about it?" I asked, damn well knowing the answer.

He struggled to find his words again, afraid I might lash out if he said the wrong thing.

"What was that all about?"

This conversation is over, "Don't worry about it," I don't want to go through this again.

"But I do worry about it! I'm scared that you might have a relapse on drug abuse," who says I haven't, "Or, or, try ta kill yourself again," who says I haven't tried already...

"That's not gonna happen," not while you're here.

"But what if it does," it will, "You can't keep pretending your above emotions! You're still mortal, you're still human, no matter how you picture yourself! Not all of your emotions have to be lust and anger, and I know they're not!"

Instinct, instinct, I swear, when I tried to swing at him. Tried. He caught my hand around the wrist before I could bruise his shoulder. "I remember how you cried when you found out Noodle died." Another swing, and another catch with the other hand. "I know how you screamed when Russell left us." I didn't even try to pull out if his grip. I probably could, but I don't. I wanted to see how far he would take this.

"I remember how you called me for weeks on end when I left you too..." I wanted to pull my hands away, but he was persistent on making me stay put to listen to him. He was using all his strength just to get me to sit by him. "You know, I was happy... at my apartment... I would've come to visit you, once things cooled down."

"S-Stop," I tried, a hiccup in my voice.

"Why did you take me away from that... why the hell would you bring me here!?"

"So they wouldn't get to you first..."

"Who?" His grip loosened, but I don't pull away. If this is what it took to be closer to him, so be it. 

"I sold my soul to the devil... but I never gave it to him. And his men are trying to hunt me down. I've made too many enemies." Why am I still talking. "And I didn't want a single one getting to you..."

I didn't want to look at him. I didn't look at his face.

Every next move he made was slow and calculated. And then I found myself in his arms again, being held tight against his bony chest. And I just hugged him back.

Too afraid that I'd lose him if I let go.


	19. Chapter 19

(2D’s POV)

He tried to hit me again. Well, tried isn't the word. He wanted to, but couldn't…

He wanted me to stop talking, to stop trying to figure him out, but we both knew what things needed to be said.

The heater was nice. The water down here is still shit, but I can always hot-box the room and add the heater.

Makes things a little better.

He's been avoiding me though. He's been keeping all the doors unlocked, so I can move around and wonder, but whenever I find him, we don't look at each other for very long.

We don't talk anymore.

Not like we talked much anyways, but… it was still nice. Those little moments we had.

Even if some of them weren't very… pleasant.

I could hear him playing guitar down the hall. He was in his room, avoiding me. He knew I was in the living room. Right on the couch. Just a few meters away from his door.

This is probably the closest he's let me get to him this week.

I don't know if it's this new found appreciation, or attraction… or most likely stockholm syndrome, but I don't like him being alone when he's like this. I don't like being left alone here either.

Without someone to talk to, this place felt like a solitary confinement cell. Just… bigger.

I still had the ukulele with me when I had left it in the living room. I picked it up, listening to the chords Mudz had been playing. And then I played them back.

And for a second he had stopped the toon altogether.

And then it started again, slower this time.

And I played it back again, waiting for him to continue. So he played the guitar, while I played the bass chords underneath it on a little uke. And I didn't feel so alone anymore. I still wasn't looking at him. But we had started a conversation in a way.

With no words or means to them, but there was a back and forth that had a sound holding it all together. And that was close enough for me.

(Murdoc's POV)

The embodiment of perfection was sitting not twenty feet away from me, with nothing but a door between us.

And I was too much of a coward to face him.

(2D’s POV)

I've wondered what it'd be like to fuck a bloke. Would it be any different than fucking a bird?

Murdoc didn't seem to think so. Then again, he porked just about anything that moved.

Being stuck on an island like this… alone. Now I remember why we started what we had in the beginning. Before it had turned into the mess that it is now…

But it’s been months, or at least it feels like it…

And he’s right there…

I wonder if he’d ever let me fuck him. It was never that way, I mean, we talked about it when we started, but it never… happened. More or less just, frottage, blowing, handies…

We acted like a pair of horny teens that got left alone together.

And right now I’m desperate. Even for just a touch. For some kind of affection that seems mutual. It's not healthy, bloody hell, I'm not healthy. Even to have these thoughts of want and need in a situation like this. None of it was normal.

Fuck it.

The door barely made a sound when I pushed it, but it's creak was defining compared to the silence.

“Hey, Mudz…”

(Noodles POV)

Nothing. He gave me fucking NOTHING! How am I supposed to track him down if all I have is an almost impossible radio signal to follow!

I had stowed away on some ship that was headed who knows where, all because of a vague 'Point Nemo’ broadcast signal coming from the direction it was headed.

Now a day's the radio tune in was rare, and I could only try to pinpoint the signals location when it was active. If I don't get another sign soon, I'm gonna wind up in the middle of the ocean searching for someone that might as well be dead.

I hope Toochie’s okay.

I haven't heard his voice on the station since the month he was abducted. And even then, he had said being there made him 'want to die.’

It's been just over two years since the El Mañana incident. The last broadcast was a few months after February, so the island had to be somewhere where the cold or snow couldn't interfere with the transmission. I'm thinking middle of the ocean… probably close to the equator. Maybe.

I'm a gunman and a guitarist, I don't know maps! The only way I found the band in the first place was by tracking their IP address, but there's nothing for me to track here!

I wonder if the people hunting us could track him this way too? That’s probably why he didn’t broadcast that often anymore. I just hope this ship I’m on is faster than the pirates. And I wished this guy would stop knocking on my fucking door!

“Ma’am!” he called again, through the wood. “You can’t keep playing instruments. I’ve told you for the hundredth time, we’re getting noise complaints. People are trying to sleep!”

God I hate this boat.

(2D’s POV)

His bandaged wounds had healed nicely. The burning was still visible, but it was healed over enough to know it wouldn’t bleed.

Probably.

He almost seemed to panic when he saw the door open.

“Hey, Mudz…” He didn’t answer me. Just stared wide eyed at me, wondering why the hell I was dumb enough to walk back into this. Wondering why I wasn’t running as fast as I could in the other direction, trying to find a way off this miserable chunk. But I stayed, and he was just as surprised as I was.

And I started something I shouldn’t have once again. Just like when this mess began.


	20. Chapter 20

(2D's POV)

The only reason people ever go back to a toxic relationship is because they don't want to be alone.

They feel like they have no one else to turn to and it's the only way they'll ever be happy... or sane.

I don't love Murdoc, not by a long shot, put being alone here was more terrifying than the pain he could bring me. I'd rather hurt and be warm, than alone and frozen. In the cold solitary basement that felt like a life sentence.

And he was warm...

(Murdoc's POV)

I tried to deal with it, with him, like any other addiction. Tried to wait it out, quit cold turkey, anything I could to get my mind off of using it again. And then I'd relapse.

Heroine, coke, fuck it, I've done meth! Anything once... But you can't do it just once with someone like me. I needed the numb to take my thoughts away, but nothing was ever strong enough. I could either up the dose, or move to something harder, something that worked better, something that brought back the comfort of the numbing that buzzed through my brain!

And he was the strongest buzz of them all.

Something warm and numbing, that could take my mind away whenever I needed it to. And then it was taken away, and I couldn't control it, I needed more. And then the supply was gone.

And I tried to quit it. I really did.

But as soon as someone waved even the smell of it in front of me, I'd relapse. I needed it, I craved it...

And here he was. My forever supply, sitting right next to me, asking me to indulge in my twisted fantasy with almost every touch he made against me.

I think he was talking, or mumbling, or something, but I couldn't focus on anything. I just didn't want to move, or talk, or fuck this up like I had the last time this started.

I was the one that took it too far. I can... I can admit that.

I know this wouldn't go back to the how it was before, Stuart's made that as clear as possible, even when I wouldn't listen. But this could be close enough.

"Murdoc..."

This could be some kind of 'normal' again. Or something.

"Murdoc, I..." Shit, he's talking! "We can't go back to doing... how we were doing things. I-I-It's just torture to try and put up with, but now... Now's worse, an' I can't take it anymore."

Don't talk, don't fuck this up. I tried to look at him, but coming to terms with how we've been affecting one another made it hard to. Made it hard to look him in the eye. Made it hard to distinguish anger and regret and lust from one another anymore, because even a single glance at him had all of them shooting through me in sharp, painful bursts of emotion.

And I hated every look I gave him without being able to touch him.

He continued, "We can't keep avoiding one another... And, as much as I hate to admit it, we each have needs..." This was the same short speech he gave in the beginning. But I... Acted different this time.

This time I had that mad boil of regret and lust and...

And I kissed him.

His hand was still on my thigh, with his other in his lap... He wasn't facing me when he spoke, but I used my hand to pull him towards me.

He wasn't expecting it, at all.

He almost seemed to jump away at the sudden affection, but my hand weaved in his hair held him steady, and he seemed to fade into the kiss.

I didn't like not being in control, but other than holding him there, I couldn't do anything else that wouldn't risk whatever amount of trust I had gained back to deserve this. I didn't want him to leave again.

Human contact was something a being like me craved more than anything, and having myself stranded away on an island all by myself made me more desperate for it than anything else I've ever wanted. And him...

I wasn't thinking, and I found myself pinned to my own mattress, lips moving fast against mine. He seemed to be moving without thinking, trying to move faster than he could think. Faster than he could regret what his actions ment. Each move had less though put into it than the last, to the point where there was no emotion in the actions, just blind desire pooling in his ever darkening eyes. He tore off his shirt, throwing it who knows where, and leaving me to just stare at that perfect slender body. Thin legs staddles my waist in ways I hadn't felt in months.

He didn't bother with my shirt, he didn't care, but he started to slow down. And stutter in his movements when it came to his pants.

And it seemed like the whole weight of the situation just about slammed down on his shoulders like it's leave a bruise.

He still had some bruises. Marks that covered and infested his perfect porcelain skin. I don't regret those. I regret a lot of things I've done, but I don't regret those. A sick satisfaction washed over me every time I saw them, and I loved the fact that I had been the one who had done it to him.

"Stu-"

"Shut up."

"Y-You don' have ta-"

"I said shut up... Just..." He sat back on my pelvis, bringing his hands to his face, but leaving his eyes exposed so he could look at me. "Just... Let me think..."

Surprisingly, I wasn't hard. Fuck, I was more terrified than anything actually, but I could see him. My poor blue bird was straining through his jeans, presses hard against that zipper.

I reached for his pants, only to get my hand slapped away.

"No... I-I-I'm in control this time, or I swear..."

"You swear what?" Why would I taunt him like that?

"...I... I'll leave... You've gotten me here now, do you really want it to stop?" Ever word he said was unsure, but was as thought out as he could get in this moment.


	21. Chapter 21

(2D's POV)

Shit, shit, shit, SHIT!

What the fuck am I doing!

Fucking yanking down Mudz pants down to his ankles, not even bothering to take them fully off. They dangled off one of his legs, unable to get passed the bunched material around his ankle. His face is a mixture of confusion, curiosity, and a blinding craving for anything that was about to happen.

"Uh... Lube?" Even with all the shit he'd put me through, we never did anything without lube. Whether it was for my own safety, or just his enjoyment, I wasn't sure. But I was as close to grateful as I could be with that fact.

"Counter, a... Fuck, drawer. The- the drawer..." he stumbled, pointing towards the nightstand. I didn't wanna move from between his legs, afraid I may not have the mental strength to get back between them. Instead, I reached over his body, pressing my chest against his as I reached across his body to get to the drawer.

I think this is when he finally realized what position we were in, when the front of my jeans pressed hard against his exposed dick. That he wouldn't be the one topping this time. His hands hovered over the small of my back, only touching my skin when I leaned back, bottle in hand. And that touch, that small amount of soft human contact, was like a shockwave to my cock, which was still pressed tight against the inside of my trousers.

Unbuttoning my jean was one of the biggest releafs of my life in the past few moments, not even able to be contained by my underwear as the tip poked out of the top of the elastic. I didn't even bother to take my pants off, just pulled them far enough down my hips to expose my leaking member.

The room was ridiculously warm compared to anything else, and the cold of the slick in my hand only drew more attention to the heat between my legs. Between his legs.

The next few steps left the room silent, except for the few groans and pants he gave off when my fingers hit something inside him. Cock twitching, out if his control, every time I got near his prostate.

"Knock it off, just... fuckin' do it already," he wasn't looking at me. That was fine. That's not what this was about. I just needed to be touched. To have contact.

To have control. For once.

And I did as I pushed inside him. Murdoc gave out a hiss of discomfort, looking down at my cock before turning away again, his whole body hot and uncomfortable. I wondered if I was painful as I bottomed out. He didn't make any noise, or say anything that would have made me think so, but the way he bit his lip and had his face scrunch up said otherwise.

The mere angle of how I was positioned over him was empowering to say the least. I don't think I'll ever get the image out of my head. Pleasurable wasn't at all the right word to describe this. I've had more pleasurable moments with a drunk thirty year old, I can't remember the name of, in a backstage broom closet. This was more... Satisfying.

Just having a warm heat wrapped around me so tight. Just enough to scratch the itch in the back of my head that had something to do with my rager.

And in my head, the situation... Just got worse.

And as soon as the idea flashed in my head it happened

"You can start movin' Stu-" My hands shakely slid up his chest. My breathing was ragged.

All those times he'd done it to me. To get me to shut up, or make more noise, or even just to leave bruises and marks... Those fucking marks!

My hands made there way around his neck, and squeezed.

Hard.

His head instantly snaped forwards, eyes locking with mine. Immediate panic flashed before his eyes, and the hands that had once gripped fabric now gripped my wrist so hard they turned red. The only reason they hadn't made me bleed was because of how short he had to keep them to play any kind of music.

And then I started moving. If Murdoc had any breath to hitch he would've choked on his own air. I let my hand slip just enough for him to gasp before his eyes rolled up. His hands moved from my wrists to my shoulders, nails finally able to grab some purchase on the softer skin. At some point I thought he may have said stop...

But he never listened to me.

I loosened up enough for him to breath, but not by much. He still gasped and spasmed at the lack of breath. I wasn't suffocating him, no, but I'm sure to him it felt like it.

He let his eyes close and his head roll back as far as I'd let it before he started trying to grind back against me. My fucking god the friction was bloody perfection! Hot and tight and slick...

I hated it, but It's all I needed. And then it was over, I could feel it. I should have pulled out, I really should have, but instead I slammed my hand on each side of his head as I came. He took in a big breath fast, fearing my hands might return, or that this was his only chance to breathe again. With his hands still near my shoulders, he reached around my neck and pulled me down, kissing me, tongue and all. And I let him, because honestly, it was kinda nice. His hips still rocked against mine at a lazy pace, ass tensing around my cock.

And just to be the good guy, I did something Mudz never did. I reached down and finished him off.

"The fuck-!" He nearly bit his tongue off with how fast he shut his trap. He only lasted a few more seconds of grinding back into my hand, and then he pulled at my hair, pulling me down to meet him again. Painting my hand in white.


	22. Chapter 22

(Murdoc's POV)

This was fine. This was how the rest of this went until the pirates arrived. Until the robot was done. Until the others came.

Until Stuart almost died.

And then things slipped back.

Not to when things were bad, or even stressful. To the time before we sat like hiding ducks on an island. Like back at Kong. We went back to treating each other like distant friends, though with less of a bock between us. Less lonesome with the others around. Life more stable around others we could actually talk and interact to.

Neither one of us talked about what happened on the island. The only evidence of those experiences actually happening where shone through unhealthy mixes of aloof and longing glances.

We didn't touch one another after the plastic beach album released. Not even when we released The Fall later that year.

But we had finally started to comfortable talking to one another again.

Grazes of skin on skin, chaste touches.

I had mentioned trying things again, but he denied me every time. Though not right away. It seemed like every time I asked, the pause between my question and his answer had gotten longer. He thought more about it every time I brought it up.

One night, after a long day, he even said, "I'll think about it." And again, he admitted, "I've thought about it..."

Nothing ever came of these interactions, aside from thoughtful looks and confusing stares.

I've screwed a few birds since we had got back. Not many. None ever felt the same.

None ever even tried to dominate me. No one had ever thought they could. No one could get enough under my skin to do so.

No one could make me feel, like he could...

The bruises he had left around my neck had long faded, almost as soon as I had finished Cyborg. But maybe...

Maybe soon...

I can get him to leave more.

\-------------------------

Thus ends this story, for I favor another at the moment.

One with more violence and blood and drugs, check out all the problems I got in my other books!


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